


The Ranch

by Psychological_Top



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Day 5 & 7, F/F, Fleurmione Week 2020, No Angst? What? Ce n'est pas possible!, Periodical AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychological_Top/pseuds/Psychological_Top
Summary: Fleur Delacour is the haughty heiress of one of the most wealthy families in the United States. Well, on one condition. She needs to get out there and experience a little hard work for herself if she wants to keep her allowance and lavish way of living. AU Fleurmione.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 31
Kudos: 217
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fleurmione Submission for Day 5 & 7\. Sorry, I'm a day late! I've been really busy. This is going to be 2 chapters/submissions because I sort of blended my two story ideas. I'll post the final chapter tomorrow.

Fleur wrinkled her nose and cranked the window back up. The air smelled of cattle and crap, and she tried to get away from the stench in the comfort of her luxurious convertible. Normally, she paid a driver to take her around, but she was heading to the middle of nowhere, essentially. If she wanted an escape back to the real world, she would rather have a vehicle there to make a quick getaway. A 1956 BMW 503 Cabriolet—the epitome of comfort, money, and social standing. And it just came out last year!

The Delacour's were one of the most well-established families in the eastern United States. They came from France, obviously, but had laid claim to some of the largest property investments in New York and had built something of an empire on American soil over the past fifty years. As the city grew, so did their wealth. Fleur, in particular, lived a lifestyle of luxury and grandeur. She thrived in that lifestyle. The gowns, the diamonds, the parties. She was made for it, she thought. She was young and beautiful, after all. What more to life was there than living in that?

It was of little consequence to her father, evidently, who thought that since his eldest daughter hadn't worked a day in her life, it might do her some good to get out of the city and see some real hardship. What a ridiculous concept. And how trivial of him. She would spend a week in some decrepit slop, and then what? Suddenly stop being rich? What a fool he was sometimes. What did it matter, either? She would find a decent suitor soon and be thrust into a new lifestyle of motherhood soon anyway. She was twenty, after all, she knew her time being single would have to come to an end soon. Heaven forbid she be unmarried at twenty-five!

She also knew she needed her father to stay comfortable. Fleur was no fool either. She had money because _he_ had money. So, she smiled and nodded, internally cringing as he arranged for her to visit some ranch in the middle of _Indiana_ , of all places. What the hell was there to do in Indiana? It took her nearly three days to get here, but finally, _finally,_ she was pulling into a long, dirt road surrounded that lacked…everything. There was nothing around! A small house could be seen at the end of the drive, and a large barn was nearby, but that was it! Animals and dirt. She wrinkled her nose again as she pulled up to the house and cut the engine.

She sat there for a moment, letting the dust settle around the car before she got out. It was a hot day, and already she could feel the temperature in the car start to increase as she stayed put, dreading this already. With an unladylike huff she opened the door, stepping out of the large car and wincing as her new Prada heel sunk into the dirt.

She slammed the car door shut and strut over to the large porch, passing two well-worn rocking chairs and a small wooden table. Reaching the _homey_ blue door, she rapped loudly on the gold lion head dangling from the center and waited.

And waited. She smashed the lion into the metal again and sighed, waiting again.

"Seriously?" she asked to no one, looking around.

She peeked into the window and couldn't see anyone. Glancing around and stepping off the porch she spotted the barn again and groaned. Her knee-length blue dress swishing in the wind as she marched towards it begrudgingly.

"Ew. Ew! Ugh, God. Ew," she complained as she traipsed through grass, hay, and literal shit. She finally made it to the barn and nearly screamed when a huge pig oinked at her loudly near the doorway. She gave it a scornful look, as if it meant to scare her, and narrowed her eyes at the sound coming from the other side of the barn.

"Bonjour?" she called warily, as she danced through the dirty hay strewn everywhere. _Who can live like this?_ The door at the other end of the barn was open wide and she could hear what sounded like a shovel digging into the earth over and over. Finally! A human, not an animal! The blonde quickened her pace down the large barn until she reached the other doorway, and her breath caught a little at the sight before her.

It was a woman. For some reason, this alone was shocking to her. Could ranchers be female? Apparently so, for this was definitely a woman and she was most definitely…ranching? Fleur had no idea what the correct term was. The woman had a dark tan from working in the sun and bushy hair that was tied up at the top of her head. She was in heavy boots, classic blue jeans and a white tank-top that was sticking to her with sweat.

Fleur had never seen a woman sweat so much. She didn't even think women _could_ sweat that much! The blonde could see rippling muscles in her shoulders and arms every time the shovel was thrust into the ground, and her mouth went a little dry at the sight, but she didn't know why exactly. She knew she was gaping like a fish, but she watched for a few moments as the woman dug the spade into the ground, drops of sweat running down her neck.

The blonde had never seen anything like this. Her arms were glistening in the sun, and Fleur could see some freckles spattered across her shoulders. Her mother would kill her if she ever saw a freckle on her, and she found it fascinating to see so many on one person. She liked it, oddly. The woman turned her head suddenly and spotted her, and Fleur saw amber-colored eyes widen in surprise at her guest standing there.

"Woah! Sorry about that, ma'am," she didn't have much of a twangy accent like the blonde was expecting, but she spoke low and slow in a slight drawl, "I guess I lost of track of time." She looked at the sun and chucked a little, "You must be my…guest for the week?" Honey eyes glimpsed her up and down briefly, and her smile grew a little more.

To her credit, the rancher only raised an eyebrow slightly at the blonde's appearance. Fleur knew she looked a little out of place. With her flowy summer dress and her high heels; her hair pinned up by an expensive pearl-studded brooch and matching pearl necklace.

"Fleur Delacour," she said, extending a manicured hand daintily as her grand-mere taught her to. The rancher looked at her floppy wrist and chuckled lowly again, pulling off a glove to wipe a dirty hand on her jeans as she took a few paces towards her. She gripped her hand like no woman ever had before, nearly crushing her fingers with her calloused hands in the process. Fleur winced, and the woman just smiled at her, showing off a set of white teeth that contrasted with her sun-kissed skin.

"Well, we're going to have to work on those hands, Fleur. I'm Hermione Granger. It's lovely to meet you." The blonde grimaced as her hand was finally freed from the vice-like grip.

"Enchanté," she replied sardonically, but the tone seemed not to deter the brunette from grinning. She hadn't stopped yet, and it was becoming mildly affronting now. She didn't trust anyone who smiled so much.

Finally, the rancher turned to stick her shovel hard into the ground so that it was now held in place straight up. She turned back to the blonde and, still smiling, said, "Non, Mademoiselle Delacour, tout le plaisir est pour moi," with a small bow and a wink as she walked by her to head back towards the house. Fleur's eyebrows were still at her hairline when she heard, "Allons-y, Fleur!" from the other end of the barn, and she snapped out if, scuttling after the muscled farmer as fast as she could in her high heels.

* * *

The afternoon went by quickly. Hermione showed her to her room at the top of the landing which was…sorely lacking, to Fleur's standards. There was a full-size bed, a small dresser, and a nightstand. Everything was worn, wooden, and distinctly missing any modicum of taste. The brunette was helpful at least, Fleur had to admit. She carried her four large suitcases upstairs without complaint—that damned smile etched onto her pretty face the whole time.

_Wait…pretty?_

Fleur shook her head. She must be losing it already. Solitary confinement in the middle of the countryside was evidently not working well for her psyche.

It was late now, and she was thankful one day was technically over. She spent the afternoon putting her many, many things away. Every so often she would peek out of the bedroom window to find the woman wrangling her livestock and carrying huge bags of chicken seed to the barn that must have weighed close to 100 pounds. Fleur couldn't remember being so caught off guard by another person before. To be perfectly honest, she normally didn't care either. She was always far too wrapped up in her own personal life to give a hoot about some random stranger. Unsure why this was any different, she was annoyed with herself. There she was late that first night, thinking about her again for the hundredth time when she should have been plotting her escape back into reality.

They had dinner together and the conversation was mainly one-sided. Hermione was a painfully generous host; cooking, cleaning, offering her wine and friendly, intelligent conversation. Fleur was too uncomfortable by the eagerness to be receptive. She didn't understand this type of thing. The friends and acquaintances she knew back home didn't even ask her these types of things, and it made her feel perturbed when she came to that realisation. She was mostly silent for the duration of the evening, an air of indifference professionally masked on her face. She went to bed early, resolved that by tomorrow she would be feeling back to her normal, cold self. Maybe it was the heat, she reasoned. That must be it.

The small window was cracked slightly to let in some cool air. Her eyelids were starting to droop as the long day of driving and excitement finally caught up with her, but her mind was still reeling. She didn't think she would be able to relax into the unfamiliar bed until suddenly, she heard a melodic tune coming through the window. It was a slow and lazy song being whistled by her host below her bedroom on the porch. For some strange reason, rather than being reminded she was far from home, it made her snuggle more soundly into the flannel sheets. The song continued for long after she had succumbed to sleep, her dreams taking shape of fields as far as the eye could see and shoulders smattered with brown freckles.

* * *

"Errrt-uh-errr-uh-errrrrrrrr!"

Loud, persistent crowing made the blonde groan in frustration, throwing the pillow over her ears to try and keep the annoying sounds farther away from her sensitive ears. It was early—way too early, and Fleur _hated_ early.

"Errrt-uh-errr-uh-errrrrrrrr!"

"Errrt-uh-errr-uh-errrrrrrrr!"

"Errrt-uh-errr-uh-errrrrrrrr!"

"Oh, fine!" she finally yelled to the empty room, throwing off her bedspread and grumbling until she pushed herself into an upright position. Her eyes squinting open reluctantly, she peeked out to the window to see a mostly dark sky. The faintest amount of orange could be seen painted across the horizon and Fleur sighed. This was not happening.

The window was still open, and she walked over to it begrudgingly but ended up gasping at the sight. She had never seen anything like this. The sun was just peeking over the farmland that was stretching out before her for miles. Rays of golden light blanketed across the expanse of greens and browns, lighting everything up in a soft morning glow. Normally, the large high-rises around her large penthouse blocked the sun from her view until it was high noon. Not that she was ever awake before then anyway.

That damn rooster was still crowing its head off. For some reason, now that she was awake she didn't seem to mind it so much. She saw Hermione walking back from the barn, covered in the same morning light. She was dressed in similar boots and blue jeans as yesterday, but now sported a brown and blue flannel rolled up to her elbows and a baseball cap over a ponytail.

_Every day she does this? Why? Who on Earth would choose this lifestyle?_

Fleur was still watching her walk back towards the house when she suddenly looked up at her standing there in the window. That damn smile came back immediately as she waved a hand at the blonde, acknowledging she was awake.

The blonde sighed and lifted her hand to wave back, which only made the brunette chuckle. _Why is she laughing?_ She crossed her arms and scowled, and the brunette stopped underneath her window, still looking up and grinning. Fleur quirked an eyebrow.

Finally, she spoke in that slow, smooth voice of hers, "I reckon you're not a morning person, Fleur."

The frown stayed firmly in place and her eyes narrowed slightly, "I don't see how anyone can be a morning person with those infernal birds," she replied.

The brunette's laughter rang out like bells across the fields behind her, and Fleur thought with a start that she'd much rather wake up to that sound coming through her window. Her host just shook her head, "Well, the ringleader's name _is_ Mephistopheles, I'll give you that. Get dressed and come on out. We've got some work to do today."

An hour later Fleur was on the porch in a yellow dress with matching heels, albeit this time they were an inch or so shorter. She had to admit, yesterday she was ill-equipped for what she thought she was supposed to be doing. Which…truthfully, she had no idea what that was supposed to be. Walk around and spread some seed over the ground? Help clean up? She was hoping the rancher would give her a break considering she was a woman of more…feminine tendencies. Hell, maybe she would let her just stay inside and clean!

The brunette spotted her and walked over. She was already covered in dirt and some sort of grease was splattered across her jeans. She was smiling again, damn her, as she looked Fleur up and down and snorted, shaking her head.

"This isn't going to work, babe," she said, gesturing towards her dress. _Babe?_ The blonde had been called a lot of things, usually by gross men that left her feeling nauseous, but for some reason, the term coming from her host was not making her feel queasy this time. Fleur gave her a look of confusion.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, you can't wear a dress out here. We're working," she explained slowly, as if that answered anything.

"Oui, je sais, but this is all I have to wear. I'm a lady—I don't wear anything but dresses," she replied just as slowly, as if she were speaking to a child.

Hermione shook her head again and ran a dirty hand over the back of her neck awkwardly. She started walking back into the house, calling over her shoulder.

"What does that make me, then?" she said, amused, "Come on, follow me. I'll let you borrow something."

They made their way back up the stairs, Fleur scowling at the greasy handprint smudged across the back pocket of the tight pair of jeans walking ahead of her. She watched it in disgust, definitely, as they made their way to the rancher's room at the end of the hall. The blonde did not like the idea of wearing anything but the clothes she brought. There was a reason for her four suitcases. She had options! She had style, and everything was custom-made for her specifically. This would surely be a disaster.

The rancher opened her bedroom door, and Fleur's eyebrows rose. Each wall was covered with books. And I mean, absolutely covered. The simple bookshelves looked handmade, and they ran from end to end of any spare wall the brunette could find, apparently. The blonde walked over in interest as Hermione rummaged through her drawers.

Most of her selection was organised by subject. She had books on everything, it seemed. History, philosophy, topography, botany, classic literature, theology, cookbooks, and fiction. Fleur moved to another wall and her jaw dropped a little. She had books in various languages—French, Spanish, Russian, and what looked like Latin. There were textbooks on advanced calculus, business management, biostatistics, quantum mechanics, physiology, logic, human anatomy, and even a book on structural engineering.

"Have you…read all of these?" Fleur asked, her voice betraying her usually uncaring demeanour as she picked up _The Concept of Law_ by H.L.A. Hart. Perhaps she sounded judgmental, but she was too curious to care. She flipped through the book, noting almost every page had things underlined and circled, with neat cursive filling any leftover margin.

Hermione looked over, and for the first time, she had been there her smile dropped. Fleur matched her frown and put the book back. Something in her stomach churned uncomfortably at making her host feel unsettled with her question. What the hell was this feeling?

The rancher finally spoke, "I have read most of them, yes," she replied tightly, walking over to where she was standing and handing her a pair of jeans, socks, and a t-shirt. "These should fit," she continued, "You're a little slimmer than me, but I'm sure you'll look great regardless."

Fleur looked away at that, a blush starting to rise to her cheeks. The brunette didn't seem to notice, "I'm running behind now, so I'll meet you outside. Grab some boots by the front door on your way out."

The blonde's cheeks still felt a little hot and her stomach still felt like she had just missed a step off the sidewalk. Was this guilt? Did she feel bad for making this random stranger uncomfortable? How strange. She assessed the clothes in her hands, taking a tentative sniff. _Phew, at least they smell like soap._ Gritting her teeth and thinking about her inheritance, Fleur got dressed. Admittedly, the pants took some getting used to, but by the time she was outside she had stopped pulling the fabric away from her…area. It was a strange feeling being covered so much for once. The pants were a little loose, but she found a belt on the brunette's dresser that she hoped she wouldn't mind she wore.

Hermione was crouched next to a huge tractor in the field next door. She had discarded her flannel and hat and was cranking a wrench and grunting slightly, half her torso inside the large metal shell that housed the engine. Fleur walked over and watched silently for a few moments as dexterous hands and rippling forearms wrenched off these small little metal nubs and set them in a neat line on a piece of cardboard next to her.

Finally, after the fourth metal nub, Fleur cleared her throat and Hermione jolted at the noise, hitting her head on the side of the tractor.

"Shit!" she shouted, dropping her wrench with a ringing bang. A grease-stained hand came up to press against the cut just above her eyebrow that was now bleeding slightly.

Fleur had already rushed over, kneeling next to her and repeating an apology over and over.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Hermione! I didn't think that would happen. I'm sorry! Are you okay? You're bleeding. Goodness, can I get you a band-aid? I can't believe I did that. I'm—"

"Fleur!" the brunette finally yelled over her rambling, "I'm fine, see?" She moved her hand to show the cut, which now had grease all over it too. It was fairly small and there was still a little blood. It looked like it was starting to swell, but the rancher didn't seem bothered by it. Fleur frowned, knowing if that was her forehead, she'd be back in bed already.

"Are you sure?"

Hermione chuckled, grabbing a packet of newer looking metal nubs that were lying on the ground before ducking her head back into the tractor, "I am sure," her voice echoed inside the machine, "Besides, it's only me here. First thing you'll learn from any rancher is that there are no days off. Hand me that compression gauge there," a brown arm stuck out and pointed unhelpfully towards the pile of tools on the cardboard.

"Ummm," the blonde looked around uselessly, grabbing a metal wrench-looking thing and putting it into the calloused hand. Hermione's head poked back out, and she was grinning again, looking between the wrench and Fleur.

"That's a Channellock, which I will need soon alright," she moved to get a metal circle with a tube on the end of it, " _This_ is a compression gauge." Fleur tried not to look like she was interested as the brunette ducked back inside, but watching the ranchwoman manipulate the inside of this strange machine was making her feel mildly impressed and…something else, but she was _very_ unfamiliar with that feeling.

"You ever tested spark plugs before, Fleur?"

The blonde jumped slightly at being addressed again, and walked a little closer to the mechanic, "Uhh, non, I have not."

"Know what a spark plug is?"

"Uhh, non," she replied again.

"Well come here, then. I'm going to show you."

The blonde knelt gracefully beside the brunette and they got to work.

* * *

Later that evening, Fleur was almost in tears with how achy her body felt. Her back was killing her. She could hardly lift her arms. Her fingers were covered in little cuts, and her knees and shins were bruised. To top it all off, she had a slight sunburn on her arms and cheeks. Hermione and the blonde spent the morning testing and replacing the spark plugs on her tractor. After that, the blonde was asked to mow the grass in one of the smaller fields. After _that_ , they had to herd a group of cattle into another pen. Finally, they had lunch, and Fleur didn't think she had ever eaten so much before in one sitting. After _that_ , she was certain her body wouldn't last even another hour, but Hermione told her she could keep up. They fertilized the field they just emptied, brushed and re-shoed one of the horses, carried some pig feed into their pen, and finished off the day shovelling literal shit.

By the time Fleur had washed off the dirt, manure, grease, and sweat from her sore body she was convinced she would not be able to move another inch. She was currently lying in bed, staring at the panelled ceiling and trying not to cry when a light knock was heard at the door.

"Come in," she said in a monotone.

The door creaked and a clean and freshly showered head popped in.

"Hey, dinner is ready if you'd like to join me."

"If I can," she grumbled, still looking at the grooves in the wood.

The brunette sighed, opening the door further and coming to sit on the end of her bed.

"I'm sorry. I know it's hard. If it's any consolation, it gets easier, and you did a really great job today."

"I highly doubt that," she retorted.

She didn't know why she felt so glum all of a sudden, but she just had no idea how she was supposed to do this again tomorrow.

"I'm serious. You surprised me, Fleur," she said, resting a hand just above her knee. The blonde's heart started racing at the unusually light touch from those strong hands. She finally looked at her, meeting soft, amber eyes that were watching her patiently.

Fleur didn't know what that meant, that she was surprised by her. For some reason, it felt good, and she didn't understand why. Why did she care? She knew she should feel petulant about it too, as if this woman didn't think she could work, but that's not what she thought at all. She wanted her to like her, and to respect her. More importantly, Fleur was _actually_ interested in a lot of the things she told her earlier. Perhaps not the subject matter, but it was the way her face lit up when she was explaining something complex. Or the way her hands gesticulated as if she were connecting thoughts right in front of them. She found on more than one occasion she couldn't look away from her.

"Thank you," she finally said, a little softer this time. Light brown eyes watched her for a moment, reading her. Finally, the rancher stood up and clapped her hands together, "Now, enough sulking. You'll feel like crap for another day and then it'll get better. I promise. Not eating isn't going to help you, though. You're skinny enough as it is," she said offhandedly, her eyes roaming over the prone form that was suddenly riddled with a nervous feeling again.

_What the hell is with these butterflies? She's a woman!_

The blonde tried to mask her blush with a scoff, "I am not skinny!"

The rancher had that thousand-watt smile plastered on her face again and she rolled her eyes playfully, "Uh-huh. Come on, skinny girl. I made a nice, hearty lasagne for you."

Later that night, Fleur was having trouble falling asleep. She knew it would cost her in the morning, but she couldn't help it. Her window was open again, and the quiet was deafening. She missed the city sounds. Or any sounds, apparently. There was no melodic tune to help her tonight, it seemed. Feeling thirsty all of a sudden, the blonde slipped out of bed to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Trying not to cry out in pain with every step, she was making her way back to her room with a cup before stopping by the front door.

Hermione was sitting outside in one of her rocking chairs, reading underneath the warm porch light. Fleur watched her for a moment, and on a whim, she opened the door. Dressed in pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt was probably not the greatest look, but at least it was still pretty warm outside. Brown eyes watched her curiously as she took a seat in the spare chair.

"Can't sleep?" her host asked.

"Non, it's too quiet tonight," Fleur replied. The brunette just hummed and went back to her book. The blonde looked around a bit. Hermione was holding a glass of gold liquid, and there were two more books on the small table between them. She looked up and gasped when she saw the stars. The stars! There were so many. It felt like a different night sky entirely than the one she was used to.

Hermione was watching her over her tumbler glass as she took a sip, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Fleur looked over and met her gaze. Her amber eyes were less readable in this light, but the blonde probably would not have been able to guess her thoughts anyway.

"It is," she finally replied, "I have never seen so many stars."

The brunette hummed again and joined her in looking up at the sky. A few moments passed before she spoke softly again, and she recited quietly, "I know that I am mortal by nature, and ephemeral; but when I trace at my pleasure the windings to and fro of the heavenly bodies I no longer touch the earth with my feet: I stand in the presence of Zeus himself and take my fill of ambrosia"

Fleur frowned slightly, her heart betraying her interest in the beautiful words as it beat steadily in her chest, "Who wrote that?"

The rancher was still looking up at the sky when she answered, "Ptolemy."

Feeling increasingly curious, Fleur asked, "What are you reading?"

Hermione turned the book towards her, and the blonde read _Essays in Positive Economics_ by Milton Freidman.

"Just some light bedtime reading, then?" she joked, hoping it wouldn't offend the rancher again.

She laughed softly, her amber eyes looking over at her warmly, "Pretty light, I guess" she said with a wink.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence. A cool breeze swept over Fleur's legs and she shivered slightly.

"Are you cold? You should go inside," the brunette scolded gently, setting her book in her lap.

"Non, I'm okay."

"Hm. Well, if you're going to be stubborn, here. This will warm you up plenty," she held out her tumbler glass, and Fleur took a sniff.

"Oh, God! That smells awful! What is this?"

Hermione laughed again, "It's whiskey. I take it you're more of a wine gal, huh?"

"Oui," Fleur replied haughtily and looked down at the glass with revulsion before taking a large gulp, gasping after the burning liquid made its way down.

"Woah," Hermione chuckled, taking her glass back after the Frenchwoman thrust it towards her, "You're generally supposed to sip it."

"That's revolting," was all she replied.

"Yeah, I guess it's an acquired taste," she shrugged, unbothered that she didn't like it. Fleur hated to admit it, but the warmth from the drink _was_ helping against the cooling night air. It settled nicely in her belly, keeping her warm like a tinder fire.

They sat together in silence for nearly an hour. Hermione reading, and Fleur content with stargazing the unfamiliar sky. Finally, she got up stiffly, and the brunette looked at her again as she made her way to the door.

"I'm sorry you have to this, by the way," she said, and Fleur stopped with her hand on the handle, "I hope I'm not making it too awful for you."

She turned towards her and saw concern and warmth watching her. She sighed. The Fleur she knew would say something snarky, but for once she didn't want to be the Fleur she knew.

"You might be the only thing making it bearable," she whispered, hoping silently it was too quiet for the brunette to hear her. But she did. Of course, she did.

"Then I'm very glad. Goodnight, Fleur."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

Nestled under her covers, she was gaining feeling back in her toes and tossing and turning again. After a few minutes, she heard the same slow whistling coming up through her window, and she smiled, falling asleep almost immediately as her exhaustion washed over her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The next day was much of the same and just as brutal. Hermione was demanding of her, even with her sore muscles. She didn't let off easy, however much Fleur tried. More than once the brunette caught her laying on her back in the field just trying to catch her breath. The resilient rays of the country sun would suddenly be gone, and she'd look up to find that smile staring down at her warmly. A strong hand would help her back up, and she'd start over again.

By the second day, they had divided and conquered the workload, and though the blonde's back was still breaking, her muscles weren't as sore and her hands were getting used to gripping the tools. Aside from the work, something else was going on that she couldn't put her finger on. There was something strange happening between them. She would often catch her host watching her, and they would share small smiles that felt like secrets between them.

Their evenings became a routine now. They would clean themselves up from the day, have dinner, and Fleur would meet Hermione outside—dressed more appropriately this time. Sometimes the rancher would let her borrow a book, and sometimes they just stayed up and talked. Once, the brunette started reading aloud spontaneously, and the Frenchwoman sat with a contented smile as she read her the published research on the discovery of the Carbon-14 isotope. She hardly understood a word, but that didn't matter. She would ask questions, and the brunette was happy to answer and define concepts in that patient, silky voice of hers. The blonde had even grown a little more accustomed to the burning scotch the rancher offered her again, and started enjoying the mild smokiness to it.

She had learned a little more about her humble host, though she was still reserved. Fleur learned she inherited the ranch when she was a child after her parents died after the war. Her uncle helped her with it for nearly ten years, but soon his arthritis limited him. Fleur learned she was an only child and felt an obligation to keep their old farm running even if she had to do it herself now. She had never been to New York but had always wanted to; she had never been anywhere but Indiana. The blonde learned she wanted to go to college but didn't know how she ever could. That her mother was a force of a housewife, and her father was a quiet professor before the war. Both of them encouraged her to read and write at a young age, which she had always loved.

Fleur learned even more by reading between the lines of what her quiet host shared with her. She would watch as the brunette left a bowl of cat food out for a family of strays that frequented each night. She saw her sun-kissed nose crinkle and her eyebrows furrow when she reached a passage of her readings that she didn't understand. Fleur loved that. Her fingers would frantically turn the nearby pages to reread. And reread. And reread. And reread again, until she all but forced herself to commit and understand the information. A final, subtle nod to herself was always the giveaway that she had got it, and Fleur somehow knew she would never forget it, either.

Hermione was also incredibly sweet with regards to her situation, often expressing to her how strong she was and how well she was doing. She would always cook and do the dishes, demanding that the blonde sit down because she knew her legs were tired. When Fleur's hands hurt, her host would come over and rub them briefly, thumbs digging into the meaty part of her palm that made her groan in appreciation. She often noted a rosy dusting to those freckled cheeks when she did that. When the blonde would fall asleep outside, she'd carry her upstairs and tuck her into bed. She'd leave her with a soft, "Goodnight, Fleur," that the blonde could always hear, before she closed the door gently and going back outside to whistle her songs to the quiet evening.

Fleur didn't know what was happening to her. She was looking forward to each day more and more and she had no idea why. She would greet Hermione in the kitchen with a smile as they shared some coffee and toast before the sun had even risen. The dressers packed full of her designer clothes hadn't been touched since her first day, and Hermione had assured her it was fine if she continued wearing her belongings. She even wore the same jeans two days in a row!

They only had two days left together, and Fleur would mope when she thought of it ending, which threw for a loop in and of itself. Who the hell was she, that she wanted to stay and shovel crap all day now? Why? She had no idea what had happened, or when it had happened, but she had to admit it was all to do with the woman sitting next to her. There was just something about her she couldn't seem to stop thinking about.

They were outside tonight again; Fleur reading Madame Bovary in French and Hermione whistling along to the tune playing on the radio inside. It was slow and simple, but stunningly beautiful, just like everything here. The rancher's eyes were on her as she turned the page slowly. She chanced a glance at her, and they shared one of those smiles that make her stomach flip.

"Why do you like New York, Fleur?" the brunette finally asked, a hand coming to rest under her chin. Fleur frowned a little and saved the place in her book, setting it in her lap and giving her full attention to honey-speckled eyes.

"I don't know. It's all I have ever known, I suppose," she shrugged.

Hermione just hummed, still watching her. Fleur was used to this by now; the studious nature of her; the examination from the other woman. It startled her at first, but now she had grown to like it. She was really trying to listen, to get to the answer.

"I like parts of it," she continued, "It's vibrant, and you feel alive and young. There are parties and people everywhere. There's never a dull moment, really. They've started calling it 'the city that never sleeps.'"

"Sounds exhausting," she stated simply.

"It can be, I suppose," she replied honestly.

"Sounds lonely, too."

Fleur raised an eyebrow at that, squirming in her seat a little, "Surely, this is lonelier than a city full of people?" she gestured to the expansive fields sleeping under the thick, dark sky.

Hermione was quiet for a moment, "Depends on your definition of lonely, I guess," she said, finally looked away and taking a sip of her whiskey.

"You are not lonely here?"

"Not really," she shrugged.

"How? I mean, what about a—a husband? A family? You don't want that?" Fleur asked incredulously.

Hermione looked over to her sharply, and Fleur nearly shrank in her chair. Something intense had filled her usually patient, observant eyes. Now, there was some entirely new emotion that the blonde had no idea what to do with.

A few moments passed, and she watched as the intense gaze lingered over her face for a few heavy moments. Amber eyes flicked down to her lips briefly before moving back up to connect with cautious blue.

"I don't want a husband, no," the brunette finally said, averting her gaze finally and looking up at the clear night sky.

"Why not?" she whispered, unable to find much more of her voice at that moment.

Silence. She'd never felt silence so loud. Fleur still waited though. She didn't know what the silence answer meant, but she knew her heartbeat had increased and was taking place of the deafening quiet that filled her ears.

The song changed, and it was just as haunting and beautiful. The familiar song gave the blonde an idea. She downed the rest of her whiskey, hissing through her teeth as it scorched the back of her throat, and stood up. She held out her hand, unsure of what she was doing but knowing it felt right.

"Dance with me," she requested. Brown eyes looked at her. She hadn't seen anything remotely close to discomfort in this woman's expression since she'd been there. Even when she hit her head on the tractor, or when she got knocked off a bucking horse yesterday. She had never shown any weakness, but that's what Fleur saw now; pain and fear. The blonde didn't understand why it was important to get rid of those feelings—why she cared so much to soothe her—but she did. She reached down and took her calloused hand, pulling her up to stand with her.

The last thing she saw was apologetic brown eyes before she closed her own, feeling a hand take hers, and another rest on her lower back. Fleur put her arm on the top of her shoulder and then they were moving, Hermione leading them around in small circles as Moonlight Serenade playing softly behind them. There was a small gap between them, and Fleur closed it, pressing them together gently and wrapping an arm around her neck. The rancher stiffened slightly, but eventually relaxed into her and they melded together even more. Her heart was racing now, and she tried not to think about why that was, but goodness this felt like heaven. Hermione was warm and surprisingly gentle as they moved to the slow beat. The blonde rested a cheek on her shoulder.

Another song played and they stayed there, swaying and turning here and there to the different rhythms. After the fourth song Hermione finally stilled, and Fleur held her breath. She felt like she had done something wrong. She could feel the rise and fall of the brunette's chest against her. Her breathing sounded louder than she was expecting. Something in the air was shifting. She felt warm. Fingers twitched against her lower back.

Fleur wasn't naïve, however much she wished she was in this moment. She knew—deep down she probably always knew—what this feeling was. It was something she had felt before, although with only a fraction of the intensity.

The rancher pulled away slowly and met her gaze. Fleur tried to keep her face neutral. Amber eyes looked like smouldering embers under the porch light, however, and she was having a hard time looking away from lips that she hadn't yet realised looked impossibly soft.

She met her eyes again, and the pain was still hiding in there. Without thinking, Fleur leaned forward and kissed her, sighing into perfect lips that were slightly parted in surprise. She didn't know exactly who started it then. Whether it was her taking the opportunity of the parted lips, or Hermione reaching more with hers, but she supposed it didn't matter so much. Soon, her hands were running through curly hair and her tongue was met with another that tasted like that smoky whiskey that was becoming a wonderful, acquired taste.

This wasn't an acquired taste though. This was like water after a month in Desert Valley. Who knew kissing a woman could be so different? So wonderful? She fit better against her. Hermione moved her mouth as though she were listening to hers. It was exactly how she had always wanted to be kissed; exactly how she needed it. Fleur just never knew.

Arms wrapping tightly around her waist and pulled her off the ground. She instinctively wrapped her legs around the woman and groaned against smooth lips as she started walking them back towards the front door. The house was echoing with gasps and grunts as the rancher tried to get them upstairs. More than once they took a rough detour against various walls when things got heated. Namely, when Fleur bit down on Hermione's neck; the rancher seemed to like that a lot, so she did it a lot. She'd be lying if she said she hated the reaction it elicited.

Finally upstairs, Hermione pushed open the door with a sturdy boot before stopping underneath the threshold. She had both arms circled tightly around the blonde's waist whose legs were still wrapped around the brunette. She pulled away for a moment to look into blue eyes.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her usually smooth voice sounding like gravel coming out from between bruised lips.

Fleur just kissed her on her open mouth and tangled her hands back into russet hair. She heard the bedroom door slam moments before she was laid down and covered with a hardened body with startlingly nimble hands and an even more impressive tongue.

* * *

Blue eyes opened reluctantly, and Fleur found herself tangled up in an empty bed. Mephistopheles was doing his usual song and dance; waking the world with his royal screaming. Fleur was still naked. And sore, although this morning the soreness was felt in... _different_ areas. Last night was the most incredible thing she had ever experienced. Hermione was just as gentle and considerate of her as she had been with her all week. There was patience and exploration, riddled with passion and desire she didn't know she needed to express so badly. And after? Now? Fleur's axis had tilted. She didn't know what this would mean for her or what she was going to do, but for some reason, she didn't think that mattered. She just wanted to find Hermione and talk to her. To kiss her again and see where her head was at. To see how they would make this work.

She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before throwing off the sheets and walking to the window. It was a slightly different view from her own bedroom, but you could still see most of the brunette's land unobstructed. She frowned when she finally spotted her in the distance behind the barn. She wasn't sure what to expect, but she could detect anger in that toned body even at two hundred yards away. She got dressed and made her way outside, shivering a little when she met the cool air. Walking through the field, the soles of her boots crunched over the morning frost, giving her away when she finally reached the rancher, who was breathing heavily and swinging a pickaxe down forcefully into the soil every few seconds. Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag.

"Good morning," the blonde said cautiously.

"Morning," Hermione quipped between strokes, her forehead starting to shine with sweat even in the cold morning. Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag. Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag.

"Are you okay?" Fleur finally asked.

"I'm fine," she grumbled, still not looking at her.

"You don't seem fine."

Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag.

"Well, I am."

Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag.

"Did I…do something wrong?"

The pickaxe rhythm was broken, but only for a moment.

Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag. She continued swinging the blade into the ground. Fleur could hear the small roots underfoot being ripped with each pull back up.

"Did you not want it?" she asked quietly.

Finally, it stopped. The brunette was panting as she looked over, but Fleur couldn't meet her eyes this time. She was looking down, suddenly interested in the dewy wildflowers. The rancher wiped her brow with her sleeve and stared at her for a moment.

"Of course I wanted it, Fleur," she replied, just as quietly.

Blue eyes snapped up, and she could see a softness again in the woman she had made love to the night before.

"Then what is it?" she asked. She heard a scoff. The pickaxe resumed again. Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag. Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag.

"You're leaving," she finally grunted in between swings. Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag.

Fleur frowned, crossing her arms, "So? Come with me," she replied, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Hermione laughed hollowly, clearly not amused. Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag. Fleur narrowed her eyes further.

"Well, why not?"

"Why not, what?" she asked in irritation, still swinging the axe, "What's the plan, Fleur? I sell my farm to run off with you to a city I've never seen, and then what?" Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag," We pretend we're cousins? I find a farm in New York to help out on?" Grunt. Swing. Thud. Drag, "No, it doesn't work. _This._ _Doesn't._ _Work_ ," she drove the pickaxe in hard on each of those last words.

Fleur stepped closer to her and put a hand on her forearm to stop her. The rancher immediately dropped the sharp tool when she felt it there. She stood there heaving as her hot breath swirled against the cold morning air. A newly blistered hand came to rest on her freckled cheek.

"I don't know all the details, but I have never felt anything like what I feel with you," she said.

"I just…it doesn't seem that simple. I can't just leave everything," her shoulders sagged, resigned.

"Hermione," the blonde said sternly, putting both hands on either side of her head. Brown eyes met her own again, "You are the smartest person I have ever met. You don't owe your parents anything except being the best version of you that you can possibly be. It's what they would want. I'm not saying we need to be together. Or that you need to run away to New York with me, as much as I would love that. I know it's a lot, but I refuse to leave here and see you and that beautiful brain waste away."

There was a pregnant pause, and if it weren't so tense Fleur would have remarked on how beautiful the ranch looked right now.

"I just…this is all I've ever known. I don't even know where to start," she admitted.

The final sliver of the sun had just made its way off the ground in the horizon, and Fleur didn't know what to say. She didn't know that words would do her any good, so she stepped closer to the rancher and kissed her soundly, pouring everything she had into it. Hermione responded in kind, pulling the blonde flush against her as if answering some unspoken question.

That felt like a pretty good place to start.

* * *

Twelve years later, Hermione and Fleur were marching down the streets of Greenwich Village hand-in-hand, fists raised as they chanted with the crowd walking beside them. Stonewall was a shift in action for people like them. No longer were they going to stay inside; stay afraid and hidden. They needed change. They demanded it.

The Indianan rancher was long gone. After nearly a year of passionate letters and steamy visits, she finally acquiesced that this damn Frenchwoman wasn't going anywhere, and she sold her ranch to move to New York with her. The rancher had graduated from Columbia University and completed a PhD in Applied Mathematics. She was now teaching advanced courses and had published multiple papers on a new mathematical model for atmospheric turbulence. Her research went hand-in-hand with Edward Lorenz' attractor theory, which laid the groundwork for what later became known as the Butterfly Effect.

Hermione was well-respected by her students and peers alike for her unique upbringing and the wisdom she often imparted on fast-paced urbanites. Though it was still illegal to be in a relationship with a woman, the university was a place of progression and free-thinking, and she was able to be as close to her true self as she could within the confines of legal scrutiny.

Fleur left the ranch with a new take on work. She went home and immediately asked her father what she needed to do to get a job within the family company. She didn't want to just be an heiress, she wanted to be a businesswoman; an asset. At that time, it was all but unheard of, but she still remembers the proud look on her father's face when she told him in no unclear terms that she refused to just get married and breed a bunch of babies. She didn't exactly mention Hermione, but after her father met her years later, she suspected he had figured it out for himself.

Fleur had worked her ass off, forgoing her old lifestyle of parties and balls. She even donated most of her designer wardrobe, opting for pants more often than not, if you can believe it. By the time her father was ready to step down, she had taken over as Chief Operations Officer at the firm and was working alongside the new CEO to grow her family's legacy even more.

The two got a two-bedroom apartment in the center of Manhattan. It took a while before the brunette got used to the city sounds and sights, but she had to admit there was something just as beautiful about this place as her home. Sometimes, though, Fleur would be wordlessly dragged to the car on the weekends and Hermione would drive them to the nearest patch of farmland. They would grab a blanket out of the trunk and lay down, listening to nothing until their stomachs broke the serene silence. Fleur hoped it was enough for her, those little tastes of home.

It was strange living in secret. Her family knew what Hermione was to her by this point, but no one said it out loud, as if the words would shatter some elaborate paradigm they had all crafted over the past decade. It was alright though, she thought. She got the girl in the end, and things were changing. She could feel it shifting in the air, just as she felt it all those years ago on the brunette's porch. Some things weren't meant to stay the same. Hermione gripped her hand a little tighter as they passed a line of police officers with helmets and batons. She looked over and met the patient honey eyes of her life partner. She didn't know what the future held for them, but she knew she would always have this, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading folks! Hope you enjoyed this fluffy little two-shot.  
> Psych x


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